


Water's Edge

by Mhalachai



Series: Blood In The Water [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Family Secrets, M/M, Русалка | нимфа | nimfa | Rusalka (Slavic Mythology & Folklore)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:06:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9149977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: For years, Yuuri had heard people say Viktor’s skating was otherworldly.He never thought they were being literal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late February, after the 4CCs and before Worlds.

* * *

Вода́ ка́мень то́чит

_Water cuts through stone_

* * *

They were at practice late. Again.

Viktor was there because Viktor was trying to regain a half-year of lost training; Yuuri because he was determined to get gold at Worlds the next month; and Yurio because, as he told anyone who would listen, he wasn't going to let two _old men_ think they could get the better of him.

Mila, who was done for the day and was skating lazy laps around the rink, had told them they were all going to hurt themselves through their stupid male pride.

Yuuri was in the middle of the rink, working himself into a spin when Yurio's voice lifted in the echo of the arena. "Hey!" the boy shouted, followed by a string of Russian too fast for Yuuri to catch. "The rink is closed!" Yurio went on, switching to English as he skated over to the boards. "This is a private practice!"

Yuuri started to slow his spin to see what was going on, and was nearly knocked off his feet as Viktor flew past him, moving so fast his skates hardly touched the ice. In the second it took Yuuri to regain his balance, Viktor arced to a stop between Yurio and the shadowed stands in a spray of ice. For a moment, the entire rink was as motionless as death.

"Yurio," Viktor said, his words dropping into the stillness like a pebble into a pond. Then Viktor said something in Russian, although Yuuri could only catch the words 'return' and 'Mila'. Yurio huffed like an aggrieved bear, but he skated over the ice to where Mila had joined Yuuri.

"What the hell is with him?" Yurio asked, circling off his momentum. At the far end of the rink, Viktor was slowly closing the distance between himself and the boards.

"What is ever the hell with him?" Mila returned. "Who is there?"

"Some lady," Yurio said. He dug his toe pick into the ice. "I never seen her before. Maybe she's a fan of Viktor." He gave Yuuri a sidelong look. "Maybe she wants him to sign her chest."

"Maybe you should stop projecting your own fantasies onto Viktor," Mila said.

"Why are you such a hag?"

"Why are you such a wet kitten?"

Yuuri pushed off from between them, moving slowly in Viktor's direction. Away from the bickering the air in the rink was oppressive. Yuuri could barely make out Viktor's voice as his words were snatched away in the flat quiet. If there was a woman there, Yuuri couldn't see her for the shadows.

Suddenly, Viktor turned around, and Yuuri was struck by the paleness in his cheeks and the brilliant gleam in his eyes. "Yuuri," Viktor said, holding himself so still that Yuuri wondered if he was hurt. "Go get the others. It's time to leave."

"Okay," Yuuri said, not understanding the look in Viktor's eyes, the lance-straightness of his spine. "Let's go."

He let his momentum carry him in a loop back towards Mila and Yurio. "What's he up to now?" Yurio asked, irritated.

"He says we're leaving," Yuuri said. It took him a minute to herd Mila and Yurio over to the opening in the boards, and when he looked back, Viktor was speeding across the rink towards them.

"Hey, Viktor," Yurio called from the bench where he was unlacing his skates. "What the hell was that?"

Viktor stepped off the ice. "A stranger," he said, not looking at anyone. "And you shouldn't talk to strangers, that's how little boys get hurt."

As Yurio launched into a half-English, half-Russian tirade on how did Viktor dare to call him a little boy, he was _sixteen_ , Yuuri watched Viktor. The man was still too pale, too quiet. All the energy and joy he held in himself after a good day's skate was absent.

"Come on," Viktor said as Yurio's tirade wore down. "We're taking Mila and Yurio home."

This garnered more protests from both of the young skaters, but Viktor guided everyone out of the rink and towards the metro station without many words. Yuuri held his tongue, watching Viktor so hard that if there were any strange women in the shadows, he would not have seen them.

Mila's stop was first, and she refused to let the others get off the train with her. Her snapped response in Russian at Viktor was enough to make the man sit back down, and she was moving out onto the platform before the doors closed. Yuuri nudged Yurio. "What did she say?"

Yurio slumped lower in his seat, glaring daggers at Viktor's head in the seat in front of them. "That's she only has a few blocks and it's not even seven yet," Yurio muttered. "And that Viktor is being _crazy_."

After so many weeks of working with the Russian skaters, Yuuri was proficient in Russian swear words by this time. He was certain that Mila hadn't been quite so polite.

At Yurio's stop, Viktor followed the boy off the train, Yuuri grabbing his bag and bolting after them just in time. "What are we doing?" he asked Viktor.

"Making sure Yurio gets home safe."

"Go home safe yourself," Yurio said to the ground, walking ahead of them with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

"Is there any reason he wouldn't?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor looked straight ahead and didn't answer.

At the train station entrance, the crowd pushed Yuuri up beside Yurio, so they talked about Yurio's short program for the five blocks to Yurio's place. Viktor was always two steps behind them, silent and watching with brilliant glass-blue eyes whenever Yuuri turned around.

After Yurio stomped up to his door and went inside, Yuuri and Viktor were left standing on the street, the evening traffic busy behind them. "We should go home and take Makkachin for a walk," Viktor said. His skin was nearly translucent in the streetlights.

Yuuri stared at Viktor. "What is wrong?"

Viktor turned his head, his eyes in shadow. "Whatever makes you think something is wrong?" And the way he smiled was fake, the tense curve of lip he adopted for the press when things went wrong with his skate, when reporters asked him if he was too old to compete, too old to _matter_. It was never a smile that Yuuri expected to have directed at him.

Yuuri breathed, crisp air pulled deep into his lungs. "Something worries you," he said. "You don't have to tell me. But something is happening with you."

Viktor shrugged in an exaggerated fashion. "What possibly could worry me?"

Yuuri felt a flutter of anxiety in his chest. Why didn't Viktor want to tell him what was going on? "We should go home."

The walk to their apartment took half an hour. At first Viktor was silent, but Yuuri started talking about Yurio's problems with his short program, and eventually Viktor made a few suggestions. The rest of the walk was awkward, but no longer chilly with silence.

Makkachin trotted over to them as they walked in the door, wagging his tail while Yuuri reached for his leash. As he buckled the clip to Makkachin's collar, Viktor drifted over to the windows overlooking the city.

"Are you coming with us?" Yuuri asked, patting the top of Makkachin's head as the dog panted up at him.

"No."

Yuuri looked at Viktor for a long moment. He was standing too tall after a long day of practice, wound too tight. Wondering again what was bothering Viktor, Yuuri wrapped the end of the leash around his hand. "I'll stop and get something for dinner on the way back."

Nothing.

"Maybe grab some milk on my way."

More nothing.

"Tomorrow I will ask Yakov if I should add another two quads to my free program."

Viktor turned around. "If you're going to the store, we're out of sugar as well," he said pointedly.

Yuuri left. Makkachin was so excited for their walk that Yuuri took them around the long way. He liked walking with Makkachin after practice. It helped him to clear his head, and he could talk to Makkachin in Japanese and no one cared.

At the store, Yuuri ducked in to buy milk and sugar, then he and Makkachin walked to one of Viktor's favorite take-out restaurants to order some dinner. While they waited, Yuuri messaged Phichit. _Why are skaters so difficult?_

The response was instantaneous. _Fighting with Viktor?????_

 _No_. Yuuri made a face at his phone. _Maybe._

_:(..._

Yuuri sighed. He knelt down to take a picture with Makkachin to send to Phichit. _At least someone understands me._

Phichit sent back a selfie of him at the rink. _I have practice. Let me know if you two kiss and make up._

Yuuri felt his cheeks heat up. _No!_

Phichit sent back another selfie, this one of him pulling a sad face. Yuuri shoved his phone into his pocket and went to get his dinner order, before setting off home.

It must have been some lingering apprehension about whatever was wrong with Viktor, because the back of Yuuri's neck itched like it did whenever anyone was watching him. He looked over his shoulder a few times, but no one was paying him any attention.

He told himself he was being silly.

Yuuri was relieved when they got back to the apartment building, with its bright corridors. He let himself into the apartment and carefully locked the door before carrying his handfuls over to the table.

"Viktor?" Yuuri called. "We're back."

Makkachin trotted over to the bathroom door and sat down.

"Of course he's in the shower," Yuuri said to himself as he put the milk in the fridge. "Otherwise he'd have to talk to me."

Makkachin yipped at the closed door.

Yuuri took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Everything about the day felt off, with Viktor acting so strange. Maybe what they both needed was dinner and a good night's sleep. He walked across the apartment to tap lightly on the bathroom door. "We're back," he said to the wood. "Dinner when you're ready."

For a moment, the only sound was the patter of the water, then Viktor called, "I'll be out in a minute."

"Good." Yuuri looked at Makkachin. "Do you want your dinner?"

The dog padded over to his bowl and sat, looking at Yuuri expectantly.

"You are a very good dog," Yuuri said, switching back to Japanese as he opened the cupboard. "The most wonderful, most special dog."

Makkachin slapped his tail against the ground.

"My dog was a special dog too," Yuuri went on. "I don't know what my parents thought when I got Vicchan, but he was their favorite dog too."

The bathroom door opened and Viktor stepped out, wearing his long green bathrobe. His hair was wet, which Yuuri had expected, but his skin was paler than it had been. Concern pulled Yuuri across the room.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked, laying a hand on Viktor's cheek. It was ice-cold. "Is there no hot water?"

"There is hot water." Viktor turned his face into Yuuri's palm. "I missed you."

It made no sense that Viktor had taken a cold shower. None of Viktor's behavior was making any sense. With a shake of his head, Yuuri stepped in against Viktor's body. "I'm back now."

Viktor's lips were cold, but Yuuri could soon chase away the chill. He pulled out of Viktor's grasp to undo the knot holding the robe closed, then ran his hands along Viktor's back, touching skin cold and perfect as marble.

Viktor made a sound into Yuuri's mouth. "What?" Yuuri asked, pulling back just far enough to look into Viktor's eyes.

Viktor ran his tongue along his lower lip. "I want you," he breathed. "Now."

"Your dinner is getting cold," Yuuri said, teasing, but the intensity in Viktor's gaze only deepened.

"Fuck that," Viktor said, his voice so low that the vibrations made Yuuri's toes curl in his shoes. "Yuuri. Take me to bed."

Yuuri Katsuki was a man who knew his limitations, and when a mostly naked Viktor Nikiforov asked Yuuri to take him to bed, he could admit that he was completely out of his depths.

They made it into the bedroom, Yuuri shedding clothes as they went. Viktor backed onto the bed, pulling Yuuri down with him. The shock of lying on Viktor's cold body sent a chill down Yuuri's spine, but Viktor was in the process of shoving Yuuri's underwear down over his hips and the chill soon passed.

As he kicked his pants off, Yuuri lay on top of Viktor, kissing him until they were both panting for breath. Viktor's hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, and Yuuri smiled as he pressed kisses down the line of Viktor's throat. "What do you want?" he murmured in Viktor's ear.

"Everything," Viktor whispered, taking off Yuuri's glasses before kissing him again.

 _Everything_ was a lot to ask, but Yuuri never backed down from Viktor's challenges. He moved with Viktor, kissing warmth back into Viktor's skin. The room around them was quiet and still, the only sound Viktor's breath hitching in his throat as Yuuri licked and kissed his way down Viktor's chest.

When Yuuri ran his tongue over Viktor's hipbone, Viktor touched Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri looked up. "Do you want something else?"

Viktor propped himself up on his elbow, his blue-green eyes wide, his mouth half-open. "You're all that I want."

Yuuri lowered his head to press soft kisses along Viktor's stomach, then he moved lower. "I'm going to do this, then."

Viktor's intake of breath as Yuuri ran his tongue over the head of Viktor's cock was all the encouragement Yuuri needed. He wrapped one hand around the base of Viktor's cock and stroked up while moving his mouth, swallowing Viktor down. The sharp groan Viktor let out as he collapsed back on the bed was absolute perfection.

They had done this so many times that Yuuri knew what Viktor liked, knew how to open his mouth to let Viktor move gently, guiding the pace with one hand on Viktor's thigh. Unlike other nights, this time Viktor didn't speak, didn't tease Yuuri with dirty promises. This time, Viktor just gasped as Yuuri sucked him off, his head thrown back on the pillows and his hands clenching into the sheets as his hips arched up.

Even as Yuuri moved to take as much of Viktor into his mouth as he could, he marveled. Viktor's body was an absolute work of art, a pale flush burning under his ivory skin. And it was Yuuri who was making Viktor feel so good, Yuuri whom Viktor wanted in his bed.

With a gasp, Viktor tensed. Yuuri pulled off Viktor's cock, stroking hard as he ran his tongue around the head. Viktor came with a shout, messy and thick on Yuuri's tongue.

Yuuri wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he climbed up the bed to Viktor's side. Viktor grabbed at him, pulling him in for a greedy kiss. As always, Yuuri went willingly, sliding his leg along Viktor's so he could press his cock, still hard and ready, against Viktor's thigh.

Viktor pulled back from the kiss, rolling his hips up so Yuuri had better leverage. "Tell me you love me," he panted, one hand fisting in Yuuri's hair.

This was so unexpected, so unlike Viktor, that Yuuri faltered. "What?"

"Tell me you love me," Viktor repeated, pulling Yuuri back in for another deep kiss. His free hand went to the small of Yuuri's back, keeping him moving.

It took them a minute to come up for air. "You know I do," Yuuri said, cupping Viktor's cheek. "Always."

Viktor turned to kiss Yuuri's fingers. "Say it," he whispered. "Tell me."

Yuuri pressed his forehead against Viktor's shoulder, breathing hard. "I love you," he said, then hiccupped in surprise as Viktor reached down to grasp his cock. The pressure of Viktor's grip made Yuuri thrust up, pleasure spilling down his body. "Viktor, I love you, I've always loved you…"

Viktor kissed him as he came, swallowing Yuuri's cries with ease. Yuuri collapsed on Viktor, his energy gone in a white, warm haze. He could feel Viktor breathing underneath him, Viktor's arms holding him secure. He could stay like this forever.

Gradually, Yuuri came back to his senses. He took a deep breath as he rolled off Viktor, the cool air of the apartment chilling his skin. He was torn between rolling up in the blankets or getting up for dinner. Either option would need more energy than he was feeling at that particular moment, so he didn't move.

Viktor shifted onto his side so he could trace lazy patterns on Yuuri's skin. The detachment of earlier was gone, and this was the man Yuuri had come to know so well, tired and happy and gorgeous.

"Can I ask you a question?" Yuuri asked, watching Viktor.

Viktor's fingers stilled on Yuuri's ribs. "What?" he asked, and there was caution in that word.

Yuuri rolled to his side so he could bump his knee against Viktor's. "Don't ever doubt me."

Viktor closed his eyes for a long moment. "That wasn't a question."

"No." Yuuri moved forward to kiss Viktor. "I guess it wasn't."

It took them a while, but eventually they got up and resumed enough clothing to leave the bedroom. Dinner had grown cold, but it was still nice to eat, sitting at the table in the kitchen, while Makkachin drowsed on his blanket nearby.

After they ate, Viktor put on the television to watch the late-night news. Yuuri was too tired to pay attention to the Russian words flying at him, but he curled up next to Viktor and texted back and forth with Phichit about the other skater's short program for Worlds. Eventually, he got up to shower, leaving Viktor to finish his show.

After his shower, Yuuri wandered into their bedroom, crawled under the covers, and closed his eyes. They had an early morning planned and Yuuri was so very tired.

He roused slightly when the bed dipped under Viktor's weight. "Stay asleep," Viktor said.

" 'm awake," Yuuri mumbled. "Really."

The light switched off. "I believe you." Viktor slid next to Yuuri, and Yuuri sleepily curled around him. "My beautiful Yuuri."

Yuuri snuggled in closer. "Mmm."

Viktor kissed Yuuri's hair. "Beautiful man."

Feeling safe, feeling secure, Yuuri let sleep drag at him. He was almost out when he heard Viktor say something. "Hu-wah?" Yuuri muttered.

"Did I ever tell you why I started to skate?" Viktor asked, no trace of sleep in his voice.

Yuuri blinked himself awake. Viktor had never talked about his reasons for skating, had hardly ever spoken of his childhood. Yuuri wasn't going to sleep through this revelation. "No. Why?"

Viktor's arm was heavy over Yuuri's shoulders. "I was a child, could barely walk, and my father put me on skates. He told me it was because my mother could not stand frozen water."

A cold thrill ran over Yuuri's limbs, jerking him back to alertness. He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, then blinked down at Viktor. The other man was staring up at him, face expressionless, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Viktor had never mentioned his mother. He hardly ever spoke of his father, but at least Yuuri knew the man existed, having moved to some American state when Viktor was twelve and living with his coach Yakov. Yuuri had always assumed that Viktor's mother had died when he was a child, too young to know her.

He searched for words. He knew what he wanted to say in Japanese, but it was late and finding the right words for Viktor was a struggle. "That sounds terrible," he eventually said.

"He hated her," Viktor said, as matter-of-fact as if he spoke of the weather. "And I think he hated me." A slow, painful smile curled up his lips. "But out there on the ice, I could forget. On the ice, no one could touch me."

The smile faded as Viktor closed his eyes. He reached out for Yuuri's hand and Yuuri gave it willingly. Viktor's gold ring pressed sharp into Yuuri's skin, but Yuuri just squeezed back.

"Except you," Viktor said. He opened his eyes, and there was warmth there. "When I am with you on the ice, that is all that matters. You're all that matters."

Yuuri lifted Viktor's hand to kiss his ring. "I will be with you everywhere," he promised. "Anywhere you want."

Viktor blinked, and Yuuri thought he saw tears in the other man's eyes. "I want you here," Viktor said quietly. "Sleep with me."

Yuuri turned out the light and lay down, curling around Viktor as if he could protect Viktor from whatever pain he carried inside himself.

Eventually, they fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning was going as usual, with an early morning protein shake before a run, when Viktor announced that he wasn't going to the rink with Yuuri.

"What?" Yuuri demanded, nearly dropping his shake. "You have to come to practice."

"I have… things," Viktor said vaguely. "I'll come tomorrow."

"No, you _have_ to go to practice," Yuuri said again. "Yakov will kill you if you miss a full day of practice with Worlds coming up."

Viktor pulled a sweater over his shirt. "Yakov cannot kill me if I am not there," he said. "There is something I have to do."

"Does it involve planning your own funeral?" Yuuri asked, but Viktor was already lacing up his shoes. And nice shoes too; Yuuri narrowed his eyes at Viktor's outfit. "Where are you going? You look too nice."

Viktor wrinkled his nose. "I can never look too nice."

"Are you going to a banker?" Yuuri pressed, following Viktor to the coat rack. "Are you meeting with the mafia? Do you owe someone money?"

Viktor sighed. "I cannot want to look nice?"

"Do you have an interview?" Yuuri watched as Viktor pulled down his most expensive coat, the one that made him look so slim and tall. "Yakov will kill you if you talk to the press without telling him."

"Yuuri." Viktor came over to where Yuuri was standing, and took the shake away from him. "Yakov will not kill me, not until after I win gold at Worlds."

"I'm going to win at Worlds," Yuuri said reflexively. "Especially if you don't go to practice."

Viktor downed the rest of Yuuri's drink. "You shouldn't speak that way to your coach," he said as he handed the glass back. "See you later."

Viktor swept out of the apartment, leaving Yuuri to gaze mournfully down at the dregs of his breakfast.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Yakov did indeed rant about Viktor missing practice, which somehow turned into the rest of the skaters being put through punishment reps. Georgi groaned while Yurio seethed, and Yuuri just kept his mouth shut as he took up space in the middle of the rink to practice his spins. Viktor was making him practice in contact lenses, to find out if being able to see better on the ice would improve his performance. His eyes stung as the cold air whipped past his face, one more minor irritation in his day.

After the morning's on-ice practice, Yuuri went to the gym. Without the ice under his feet he could let his mind wander and, as usual, Yuuri thought about Viktor.

He still didn't understand Viktor's behavior the previous day. Something was bothering him, more than anything else Yuuri had ever seen. It must have something to do with the woman Yurio had seen in the shadows the previous night. Maybe someone that reminded Viktor of his past?

But then why had Viktor told Yurio to be careful, that he might get hurt?

No, that _little boys_ could be hurt by strangers. Yuuri put down the weights, trying to think. Viktor had acted as if there might be something wrong, insisting on taking Mila and Yurio home, but he hadn't behaved as if he was worried for his own safety. So maybe the stranger in the shadows had nothing to do with anything at all.

"Hey."

Yuuri nearly jumped out of his skin. One of the skaters who Yuuri did not know well, Alexi, was looking at him. "Yes?"

"Are you using that bench?"

Yuuri looked down. "No, I'm done." He grabbed his water and towel and moved off to the treadmill.

Trying to think this all out made his head hurt. Maybe he should focus on something he understood, like training.

* * *

He ate a larger lunch than was wise, shoveling food into his mouth as he scrolled through his messages. Yuuko had sent him video of the triplets' skating class, and looking at six-year-olds trying to skate backwards cheered Yuuri up immensely.

His sister had sent some pictures of the hot springs with a dusting of spring snow. He missed spring, in this northern Russian city with the ice choking the river. Yuuri looked down at his empty plate. He had eaten too much for an afternoon of practice, but he doubted that Yakov was in any mood for him to be slacking off, especially as Viktor was still nowhere to be seen.

With a sigh, Yuuri got up. As long as he stayed away from spins, he probably wouldn't puke.

The rink was quiet, with most of the other skaters still at lunch or taking the afternoon shift in the gym. The only person in sight was Yurio doing his schoolwork on the benches. Yuuri could understand that; he had always been able to concentrate on homework better at Ice Castle, with the swish of skates over the ice as familiar background noise.

Well, Yuuri would leave Yurio to it. He wanted to practice his footwork on his new routine; Viktor had complained about his 'sloppy ankles' the previous week and Yuuri was determined to never hear those words again in any language.

He got into a rhythm – five minutes of step-work, then a few laps around the ice to work out the strain in his muscles. He didn't need music. The chip-tap of the ice under his blades was melody enough for him.

After a while, the ache in his stomach began to fade, so Yuuri decided to try some spins. This too was familiar muscle memory; holding his body in a perfect line, leaning into the rotation, feeling gravity pull him around and around until he could spin for the rest of his life.

Eventually, he slowed, and stopped. His body ached with the tension of balance, his right leg burning with the effort. But he felt good. He felt like he could skate like this forever.

He took a deep breath. It was still only him and Yurio, and the other boy was glowering down at his books. Yuuri smiled, mostly because he was glad to be done school, then closed his eyes for a moment to center himself before another spin. When he opened them, he stepped back in surprise.

Viktor was sitting on the bench next to Yurio as cleanly as if he had dropped in from the sky.

Yurio looked up from his books with a start. "Jesus, Viktor," he said loudly. "Make a noise or something. What do you want?"

Viktor said something quietly, which made Yurio lean back in surprise. Wondering what they were talking about, and why Viktor was at the rink when he'd said he'd be away until evening, made Yuuri push off towards the boards.

"… for yesterday," Viktor was saying in English. At least if he'd wanted total privacy, he'd be speaking Russian, Yuuri thought.

"Yesterday was nothing," Yurio shot back. "I don't care if you all call me 'kid'. I'm going to win Worlds and then fuck you all."

The smile on Viktor's lips was tired. "If the older skaters had tried that on me when I was your age, I'd never have forgiven them."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yurio, this is an apology," Viktor said. He looked at Yuuri, and there was a spark of light in his eyes. "You know what? Never mind."

"No, you apologized," Yurio said quickly, slapping his book closed. "Katsudon heard you. You can't take it back now."

"I suppose not." Viktor reached into his jacket's inside breast pocket. "Anyway. I saw this and thought you might like it."

"Are you trying to bribe me?" Yurio asked, deeply suspicious.

Viktor threw up his hands. "Yes, I am trying to bribe you," he said mockingly. "It is a present, Yurio, that is all."

"You are acting weird," Yurio said, glaring at the small box in his hand as if it might contain the world's tiniest poisonous snake.

"Open it," Yuuri said as he rested on the boards. "I want to see."

"You don't know what this is?" Yurio demanded.

"How many times this week have you told me that I don't know anything?"

"At least five," Yurio muttered. He pulled the lid off the box, then stared.

"It's a tiger," Viktor said as Yurio pulled the small metal chain out of the box. A flat cat pendant hung from the chain, the dull grey metal contrasting the silver chain.

"It's cool," Yurio breathed, forgetting to be angry for a minute. "Why?"

Viktor shrugged. "It is a tiger, you like tigers."

Yurio shoved his books to the side. "I'm going to go put it on," he said, and scampered down the hall towards the dressing rooms.

Viktor watched him go. "He's so young."

Yuuri rested his elbows on the boards, putting his chin in his hands. "Yurio was never young."

Viktor raised his eyebrow at Yuuri. "No one could skate _Agape_ if they didn't have something young in their heart."

"And that's why you wanted Yurio to skate to _Agape_?"

Viktor tsked. "No, I wanted you to skate _Eros_ for me and it was as good an excuse as any." He smiled at Yuuri. "How are you?"

"Tired."

"Your spins are getting tighter. Better ankles."

"Viktor!" Yakov's voice echoed across the ice. Yuuri winced, turning to see the older coach stalking around the arena. He said more in Russian, but the harsh tone didn't seem to affect Viktor.

"I told Yuuri, I had an errand," Viktor said, flicking an invisible spot of dust off his jacket.

"And this errand," Yakov said in English, his words impossibly heavy with sarcasm. "Is more important than practice?"

Viktor straighten his jacket lapels, not looking at Yakov or Yuuri. "The ice on the lake broke yesterday," he said, voice empty of all warmth.

The words held no meaning for Yuuri. He turned his head to see what Yakov would take of this non sequitur, and was surprised to see the look of…. Understanding? Resignation?

"Ah," was all Yakov said. "Well, make sure you're here for practice tomorrow. You can work on that jump combination." And he gave Viktor a nod and walked away.

Yuuri frowned at Viktor. "What lake? What ice? What does that have to do with anything?"

Viktor stood up. "Lake Ladoga, in the east. It freezes, it unfreezes."

"Is that a problem?"

"It's just water, Yuuri," Viktor smoothed down the front of his jacket. "Why would it be a problem?"

Anxiety churned in Yuuri's stomach. Anyone could see that Viktor was bothered, and Yuuri didn't understand why Viktor was holding things back from him.

"I have to get to practice," he said as he shoved off the boards. "Are you going to be home tonight?"

"Yes."

"I'll see you there."

"Yuuri."

Yuuri held in a frustrated sigh, but he dug his toe pick into the ice. "What?"

Viktor stepped over to the boards, his hands flat against the cold plastic. His gold ring sparkled in the florescent lights.

Yuuri pushed off towards Viktor. He turned into the boards instead of stopping, catching Viktor's hand and lacing their fingers together. "Remember what I said," Yuuri said as he pressed his forehead against Viktor's. Viktor let out a shaky breath. "Don't doubt me. Not about us."

"I don't." Viktor brushed the tip of his nose against Yuuri's. "Believe me."

"I want to." Yuuri lifted Viktor's hand so he could kiss his ring. "You can tell me anything you need to."

Viktor's smile was so incredibly sad that Yuuri wondered what he had said wrong. "Then I tell you that I love you." He leaned forward to give Yuuri a quick kiss on the lips. "I will see you tonight."

And with that, Viktor pulled away.

Yuuri spent the rest of his time on the ice wondering what was wrong with Viktor, what was wrong with _himself_. He messed up on his jumps and got yelled at by Yakov in front of the other skaters, and he still had no idea what was going on.

As he was making his way out of the dressing room on his way home, he came across a huddle of skaters around Mila. "Look," Yurio said. "Viktor got Mila a bracelet."

The young woman held up her wrist to show off the thin band of dark grey metal, holding five small burnished stones. "Isn't it pretty?" she said. "Viktor said it was because I got silver last month."

"It is very nice," Yuuri said, more confused than ever. Viktor didn't randomly give gifts to the other skaters.

"It's got amber in it," Mila went on, still admiring her bracelet. "Viktor said it gets rid of negative energy."

"What negative energy do you have?" Georgi asked.

Mila raised her eyebrows. "Putting up with all you lazy men." She spun dramatically on her heel. "Who wants to go to the cinema?"

A herd of figure skaters moved toward the exit. Yuuri stared after them, then looked at Yurio, who was picking up his bag. "You're not going?" Yuuri asked.

"I have a test next week," Yurio muttered. "I don't know why I have to be in school."

"Because eventually you will have to retire and find another job."

Yurio made a face. "I'll be a coach like Viktor. If he can coach you, how hard can it be?"

Yuuri refused to let himself be baited. "Coaching is hard. You should go to university," he said as he headed towards the exits.

"No way!" Yurio hefted his bag over his shoulder to keep up with Yuuri. "That's too much work. Every skater who goes to university, they skate like crap."

"Who?"

"You. You were a crap skater when you were in Detroit."

Well, Yurio wasn't totally wrong. "At least when I retire, I can get a job," Yuuri said.

"You can never retire," Yurio objected. "If you retire, Viktor retires, and then who will I have to beat?"

"JJ?" Yuuri said, and was nearly knocked over by Yurio's elbow in his ribs.

"JJ?" Yurio snorted. "Don't make me laugh."

"There's always going to be someone else to beat," Yuuri said, swinging an arm around Yurio's shoulders to pull him into a headlock. The boy squawked and tried to twist away. "And then when you're old, you can be like Yakov and coach little brats to skate."

"Ugh." Yurio shoved Yuuri away from him. "Children are terrible. You are terrible."

"If I'm so terrible, why are you walking with me?"

"Because you're going to the same train I am."

They continued to bicker half-heartedly on the way to the subway. Yurio eventually turned the subject to his friend Otabek Atlin and his progress on his next season's short program and the jump combinations Otabek planned to use.

Yurio's stop came first, and the boy jumped off the train with a casual farewell. Yuuri watched him on the platform until the train doors closed and they pulled out, heading east. It was strange, hearing Yurio talk about having an actual friend. Maybe that was why he was so crabby the rest of the time; being the youngest skater at the rink and living apart from his family must be lonely. If Yuuri hadn't had Phichit to be his friend in Detroit, he might not have made it.

The lights on the train flickered and went out for a brief moment, sending up dismayed voices. Yuuri clutched his skate bag closer. _Please don't let the train break down,_ he thought in a silent plea. This part of the subway was so far underground, they'd have to climb forever to get out if the train stopped.

The lights came back up, strong as before, and Yuuri let out a quick sigh of thanks. He just wanted to get home to Viktor and Makkachin, to have a shower, eat dinner, and curl up beside Viktor for the night.

Looking around the train car, he blinked a few times. He must have been thinking too hard, because at some point a woman had sat down in the seat in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. He probably would have noticed her if she had walked past him, because her long hair was soaking wet.

Why would someone be sitting on the subway with wet hair, at this time of year?

The train went into a curve, and the voice overhead recited the name of Yuuri's stop. He gathered up his skate bag and his knapsack, ready to depart.

In the crunch to leave the train, Yuuri lost sight of the woman with the wet hair. Russians did all sorts of strange things, and if no one else on the train was going to notice, neither was he.

The walk home was a quick one. Yuuri made it into the building and the elevator without meeting any of his neighbors. He paused briefly outside of the apartment door, hoping that whatever was happening with Viktor, that they would be okay.

He unlocked the door into a room that smelled of cooking and warmth. "Viktor?" Yuuri called, closing the door behind him.

"Yuuri!" Viktor shouted. "I'm busy!"

Setting down his things, Yuuri made his way to the kitchen. Viktor was standing by the stove, stirring something in a pot and frowning mightily. Yuuri put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. "What are you doing?"

"I might be making a mess," Viktor said, holding out a hand to Yuuri. "Can you read Russian?"

Yuuri took the hand and let himself be pulled into a sideways hug. "You know I can't."

"Apparently, neither can I." Viktor gestured in disgust at a cookbook lying on the counter. "I thought this would be easy."

"What is it?" Yuuri leaned up to kiss Viktor's cheek.

"It's supposed to be soup."

Yuuri looked into the pot. "It's a bit thick."

Viktor growled.

"We can put it on rice," Yuuri suggested, taking the spoon from Viktor to taste the mixture in the pot. It tasted all right, if a little bland. "Is there any meat?"

"In the oven." Viktor leaned against the counter. "This was supposed to be a surprise."

"I'm surprised." Yuuri opened the spice cupboard. He was running low on red pepper flakes. He'd have to get his parents to send him more. "Watching you cook is always a surprise."

"I am wounded."

"Set the table," Yuuri said. "I'm starving."

Instead of doing as Yuuri asked, Viktor reached over to turn down the temperature on the stove. "I have something else to do first."

Yuuri gave the sauce one last stir. "What's that?"

Viktor took the spoon from Yuuri's hand and set it down. "I have to say hello to you."

"Oh?" Yuuri stepped against Viktor's body. "Hello."

"Hello." Viktor kissed him, lips warm and inviting. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor, melting into the kiss like he always did. He needed Viktor like air, like water, like life itself.

Viktor eventually broke the kiss, pulling back just a little to smile at Yuuri. "Beautiful Yuuri," he murmured.

Yuuri went up to kiss the tip of Viktor's nose, to make him laugh. "Do I have time for a shower before we eat?"

"Can I help you?" Viktor said hopefully.

"No, because then we will never eat dinner," Yuuri said as he danced back. "I'll be ten minutes."

Viktor shouted something after him in Russian, but Yuuri was already in the bathroom. He stripped down quickly, glad to get out of his tracksuit, before taking out his contact lenses. From there it was a quick step into the shower, and soon the hot water was streaming over Yuuri's body as he soaped himself down.

This was his favorite part in coming home after practice. He could just be still for a few minutes, let his body come down off the highs of the ice, let himself get warm, let himself slow down. Most days, he ached, but today all was well with him.

He ducked his head under the spray to wet his hair, then turned to get the shampoo. As he turned, he saw a flicker of a dark shape standing in the corner of the bathroom. He yelped and flung himself back, batting at the faucet to turn off the water. If this was Viktor's idea of a joke, it wasn't funny!

As soon as the water was off, Yuuri pushed back the shower stall door, heart pounding in shock and growing anger, ready to yell at Viktor…

Only there was nothing in the room with him.

The corner where he had seen the shape was bright and empty.

 _It was your imagination_ , Yuuri told himself as he dripped on the floor. _Just imagination. You're worried about Viktor and ate too much at lunch._

He reached for a towel. He didn't feel like washing his hair any more.

Dinner turned out all right, in spite of Viktor's frustration with the recipe. Yuuri went over his training for the day, which led Viktor into a half-hearted lecture about the footwork on his step sequences. After dinner, Viktor took Makkachin for a walk while Yuuri skyped his parents. He wrapped the call up before Viktor returned, so he took his Russian vocab book into the living room to wait.

He was just trying to figure out if he was pronouncing the Russian word for suitcase correctly, when Viktor and Makkachin returned. "It's cold," Viktor said, locking the door and removing Makkachin's leash. "What are you doing?"

Yuuri put his book to the side. "My head is hurting," he replied in Japanese.

Viktor shucked off his jacket. "Are you tired?" he asked, coming over to the couch and bodily laying down on top of Yuuri, making Yuuri try to shove Viktor to the ground. "You only ever talk to me in Japanese when you're tired."

"My coach is a pain," Yuuri said in Russian, as Viktor settled more firmly on top of him.

"You learned that from Yurio." Viktor kissed Yuuri thoroughly, distracting him from his studying. Things progressed down a predictable path for the next hour, not that Yuuri had any complaints.

Eventually, completely exhausted, Yuuri curled up against Viktor under a blanket on the couch. Viktor was still breathing hard. "You need to work on your cardio," Yuuri said with only a tiny bit of smugness in his voice. "Better stamina."

"Agreed." Viktor hooked his ankle around Yuuri's. "We should practice this more. Twice a day."

"Three times," Yuuri corrected. He kissed Viktor's throat. "Twice in the morning and once at night."

Viktor laughed. "You're going to wear an old man out," he said, smiling as he breathed against Yuuri's hair.

"You're not old." Yuuri closed his eyes, letting himself relax against Viktor's chest.

They lay there for some time, Yuuri enjoying the sound of Viktor's heartbeat in his ear. After a while, Viktor moved, leaving Yuuri on the couch while he retrieved his trousers.

"Move," he said as he rejoined Yuuri on the couch. "I got you something."

Yuuri rolled over to let Viktor under the blanket. "Is it a Japanese-to-Russian phrasebook?" he asked hopefully.

"No." Viktor opened his palm to reveal a tiny cloth bag. "This is for you."

Yuuri shifted up onto one elbow. "Viktor."

"Open it."

Yuuri took the tiny bag from Viktor and pulled open the drawstring. Inside was a ring of the same dark grey metal as Mila's bracelet and Yurio's tiger pendant. "What is this?"

"It's a good luck ring," Viktor said, taking the band from Yuuri's fingers. "With Worlds coming up, I want you to know that even when I can't be with you, I'm thinking of you."

Yuuri's stomach dropped. "Why would you not be with me?" he demanded. Was this what Viktor had been working up to all day? "Are you leaving? Am _I_ leaving?"

"Yuuri, no!" Viktor looked as shocked as Yuuri had ever seen him. "No! I have to get back to my training, I won't have time to be with you at the rink all day, that is all I mean." Viktor pulled Yuuri into a hug. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you."

Yuuri buried his face against Viktor's throat. "I'm not," he said, his heart fluttering in his throat. "I'm here with you forever."

Viktor kissed his cheek. "Forever."

When Yuuri could breathe again, he sat back. "Show me your good luck ring," he said.

Viktor held the ring up to the light. It was a thin band, narrower than their matching gold rings. Yuuri held out his hand to let Viktor place the ring on his middle finger. "There," Viktor said, the tension easing from around his eyes. "Perfect."

The metal felt warm and heavy against Yuuri's skin. He wondered if there was something that Viktor wasn't telling him, and what it could possibly be.

"Do you like it?" Viktor asked.

"Yes," Yuuri said, even though he wasn't really sure he did. "Do you want me to show you how much?"

Viktor's willingness to submit to Yuuri's demonstration was enough to put the worry out of Yuuri's head. At least for a little while.

* * *

The next day at practice, Yuuri kept messing up. Yurio mocked him whenever he flubbed a jump, which was to be expected, but Viktor's weary "Let's try again," was almost more than Yuuri could stand.

After a particularly disastrous tumble, Yuuri got to his feet. "I'm going to the gym," he announced.

Viktor crossed his arms in disapproval. "You cannot just _quit_ when you're having a bad day."

"If I keep this up, I'll slit my own throat with my skate blade," Yuuri snapped. He made it to the side of the rink without killing himself, and set about unlacing his skates. Viktor followed him. "You said it yourself, you need to practice your own routine. I'll be back in a few hours."

"What is in your head?" Viktor asked. "You only mess up like this when you are thinking about something."

"I'm fine." Yuuri wiped his skate blade with so much force he ripped the rag. "Maybe I need to sharpen my blades."

"You don't want them too sharp."

Yuuri threw the torn rag to the ground, frustration gripping at his stomach. "I've been skating since I was five, I know how sharp I need my blades!"

"Okay." Viktor straightened up. "I'll go practice."

The man skated off as Yuuri cursed his bad luck. Things happened, that was all. He just needed to get through the afternoon, and it would be a better day tomorrow.

He put his skates in a cubby before heading out of the rink, deciding to make a detour to the washroom before going to change. The washroom was empty, which was fine by Yuuri. He didn't feel like making awkward small talk with Russians while he was having such a bad day.

All in all, he wasn't even surprised when he slipped on a puddle on the floor and went down hard.

The shock of the fall knocked his breath away. The pain radiated from his hip down his leg and along his back. Instinctively, he lay flat, trying to figure out how badly he was hurt.

The initial pain quickly gave way to a dull ache, so Yuuri thought he might be okay. But it was just another terrible thing happening on this terrible day, and now he was lying in a puddle of water (he really hoped it was water) in the men's washroom. He was pretty sure things couldn't get any worse.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

Yuuri closed his eyes. Yurio. Of course. "I fell."

"So get up!"

Something slapped Yuuri across the face. "What?" he demanded, opening his eyes to see Yurio glaring down at him.

"How bad are you hurt?" the younger skater asked anxiously. "Do I have to get Yakov? Do you need a doctor?"

"I'm fine," Yuuri said, letting Yurio grab his arm to haul him up. His left hip gave a twinge, but the pain wasn't sharp. "I just need to change."

"I can't believe you, falling like an old man." Yurio kept hold of Yuuri's arm as Yuuri put weight on his left leg. "Clumsy idiot."

"Leave me alone, I'm having a bad day." Yuuri limped out of the washroom, Yurio on his heels.

"No, missing your train is a bad day," Yurio said. "You've been falling like a clumsy monkey all morning. That's bad luck."

"Come on," Yuuri said as they went into the locker room. "You don't really believe in bad luck, do you?"

Yurio snorted, but he looked worried. "All figure skaters are superstitious bastards. I see you with that stupid dog tissue box all the time."

"That's a good luck charm, that's all." Yuuri winced as he sat down on the bench. "Good luck is different than bad luck."

"It doesn't work that way." Yurio hovered over Yuuri. "Did you hit your head? Maybe you should see the doctor."

Yuuri rested his elbows on his knees, hoping that if he just sat still, he wouldn't hurt himself any more.

"Did you do something bad?" Yurio went on. "Did you kick a black cat? Break a mirror?"

"No," Yuuri said. He looked at his hand, at the gold ring on his ring finger next to the darker band of Viktor's good-luck charm. He hadn't had any bad luck before he put that on.

"So what's wrong with you?"

Yuuri sat up. "Yurio," he said sharply. "I'm fine. Go back to practice."

Yurio glowered at him. "I've got an eye on you," he said menacingly. "Don't fall over any more."

"I won't."

Still glaring, Yurio left the locker room.

Yuuri pulled the grey ring off his hand. He knew he was being stupid, that Viktor had bought this for him as a gift, nothing more, but Yurio was right. Figure skaters were superstitious, and now that Yuuri had the idea in his head that the ring was bad luck, he would never be able to forget.

With a grunt, he got to his feet. He felt gross after lying on the men's room floor and he wanted to shower for a whole week.

He stripped out of his tracksuit, leaving it on the bench to dry. He put his glasses into his locker, and after a moment's hesitation, put the grey ring into the locker as well. He knew he was being ridiculous, but there was no one around to mock him for it.

The locker room was quiet as Yuuri made his way to the showers. Once inside the tiled room, he unwrapped his  towel to poke at his hip. The bruise was already darkening to purple, but he didn't feel any shooting pain as he prodded. He'd had worse bruises from skating falls before.

Yuuri turned on the shower, flinching as the hard spray hit his chest. He missed the soft spray and familiar soap of the hot springs baths.

Feeling suddenly homesick, Yuuri scrubbed soap through his hair and over his body. He loved Viktor, loved training with him, but he missed his room, his parents and his sister, all the familiar parts of Hasetsu. Maybe he and Viktor could go for a visit after the World Championships in March. The flight from Boston to Japan would be long, but it would be worth it to see his family again. In late March the cherry blossoms should just be at their peak and—

Something touched his back.

Yuuri yelped as he spun around, ready to yell at whoever had snuck up on him in the shower, but there was no one there.

"That's it!" he announced to the empty room, his heart pounding. "I'm going home!"

"Eh?" Georgi poked his head into the shower area. "Are you talking to me?"

"No," Yuuri said. He turned off the water. "Is anyone else out there?"

"Nyet."

"Of course not." Yuuri grabbed his towel. "Sorry."

Georgi withdrew. Yuuri scrubbed the water off his skin and hair, shuffling carefully in his flip-flops back to the lockers. He was done with today. He'd go home, curl up on the couch with coffee, and watch figure skating tape so Viktor wouldn't yell at him for slacking off.

* * *

So much for a plan.

Yuuri told Viktor he was going home, received an epic pout for his pains, and made it out of the arena without accident. He was on edge in the subway, and could have sworn he saw another lady with wet hair on the far platform – here, on a day where the temperature was below freezing. Russians truly were a strange people.

He got home without incident, only to find that he'd forgotten the DVD with the skating footage at the rink. Frustrated, Yuuri settled himself on the couch with his computer and pulled up the video from the Four Continents competition. Yuuri had earned gold, narrowly beating out Otabek, but he knew he had some kinks to work out of his routine before he faced Viktor and Yurio at Worlds.

Two hours later, Yuuri's phone pinged with a text from Viktor. _I'm leaving in half an hour. Should I get dinner?_

Yuuri rubbed his eyes. He was stiff and sore and if he didn't get some movement soon, he'd be in a lot of pain tomorrow. _I'll go. What do you want?_

_Surprise me ;)_

Yuuri struggled out of his blanket nest. _Ice cream for dinner, how's that for a surprise?_ he texted back as he staggered to the bathroom.

_It's not the worst idea you've ever had. But close._

Yuuri splashed water on his face to wake himself up. What would make him feel better, he decided, was a fast walk to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner. That would work the ache out of his hip and get his blood moving.

 _I will pick up groceries, be back by the time you get home,_ Yuuri typed out on his way to the bedroom. He changed out of his sweats into warm clothing for the walk to the grocer's. He had to go into his backpack to retrieve his wallet, and while he was counting out some bills, he knocked his bag over, spilling everything out onto the floor.

"So much for getting rid of bad luck," Yuuri said to Makkachin, who had followed him into the bedroom. The dog settled onto the bed as Yuuri tidied up his mess, shoving everything onto the dresser to handle when he got back.

He almost missed the ring, having rolled half-under the bed. But as he went for his shoes, Yuuri spotted the grey band, and picked it up. He sat on the bed beside Makkachin with a sigh.

"I have to tell Viktor," he said to the dog. Makkachin wagged his tail twice. "I have to tell him that I don't know if I can wear his ring. I don't want him to think that I don't appreciate him."

Makkachin yawned.

"I'll tell him when he gets home," Yuuri said, nodding his head at having come to such a sensible decision. "He'll understand."

And with that, Yuuri placed the ring in the middle of the dresser.

Feeling much better, Yuuri shoved his cash in one pocket, his phone in the other, and headed off.

The St. Petersburg evening was crisp and cool, with just a hint of spring in the air. The Neva river flowed sluggish under the bridge, chunks of ice floating out into the gulf. Mila had told him that soon, massive ice floes from the lake would be flowing down the river, and they could all take a break from practice to go watch.

The owners of the small grocery store where Yuuri shopped were happy to see him, and smiled indulgently as he fumbled out the request for ground pork and beef. His Russian was still pitiful, but he had enough to get by at the grocer's, and could pull out his phone to translate the rest.

Yuuri was soon back on the street, carrying the bag of ground meat and ice cream and enough green vegetables to keep Viktor from complaining about malnutrition. In spite of his painful morning at the rink and his frustrating afternoon, Yuuri had a bounce in his step as he turned the corner to take him back to the bridge.

Only the bridge wasn't there.

Nothing was there.

The city was gone.

Yuuri whirled around, heart in his throat. One moment, he'd been in the middle of St. Petersburg, surrounded by people and traffic, and now he was _nowhere_.

 _I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy!_ Yuuri told himself as he looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a dark flatness spread out before him. The ground moved like sand under his feet, and behind him was a towering darkness, like the old pine forests of home.

Yuuri dropped his shopping bag in his haste to get to his phone. The little device wouldn't light up, no matter how hard Yuuri tapped it. He had nothing.

 _Am I dead?_ Yuuri wondered, sinking to his knees. _Did I get hit by a car? I didn't feel anything. Is this what death is like?_

Overhead, a full moon broke free from the clouds. Yuuri could see the trees better now, the low sandy beach on which he stood curling off into the distance on either side, and the stillness of the ice before him.

A deep _crack_ filled the air, making Yuuri jump. Was it a gunshot?

"The ice," said a cold voice. Yuuri spun around. A still figure, which Yuuri had first mistaken for a stone on the water's edge, turned around. In the dim light, all Yuuri could make out was the  pale oval of a face, featureless yet threatening.

He began to shake, from cold and from fear. Was he dead?

"The ice," the voice said again, and Yuuri thought it might be the voice of a woman, so high and fragile. "The ice breaks. Winter is over. The lake comes back to life." The figure stretched out a hand to the lake, her bare arm hardly more than bone.

Yuuri tried to swallow, and there was ice in his throat. "Are you a ghost?" he whispered. He was speaking in Japanese and she was speaking Russian and he understood everything she said, and that made as little sense as anything else. He must be dead.

"No," and now she was behind Yuuri, her cold breath burning like ice on his cheek. "Are you?"

Yuuri turned, trying to get away, but the woman grabbed his arm. Even through three layers of cloth her grip was the coldest of ice. Yuuri cried out in pain and the woman let him go, leaving him to fall onto the sand.

Cradling his arm, Yuuri looked up, and nearly cried out again.

The woman had Viktor's face.

Yuuri kicked back, away from the woman bending over him. She stood slowly, achingly thin in her wet garments, her long pale hair dripping water onto the sand. She stared right at Yuuri, and there was no mistaking her similarity to Viktor. They had the same cheekbones and nose, the same startling blue eyes.

"Who are you?" Yuuri asked, his teeth chattering.

She swayed back and forth on the sand. "I know who you are," she said, and her words were a lash on the air. "Thief! Taking what is mine!"

Yuuri tried to get to his feet, tripped over a stick, and fell heavily against a rock. "I didn't take anything from you!" he exclaimed.

"Liar!" The woman swooped in on him, crowding him against the rock until he couldn't move. "You take what is mine!"

She grabbed Yuuri's right hand and forced it up. The moonlight turned the gold of his ring to silver.

"You stole him!" Her eyes were glowing. "You tied him, hobbled him, and you thought no one would stop you?"

A loud crack coming in off the lake snapped the confusion in Yuuri's head to comprehension. "Are you talking about Viktor?" he demanded. "I didn't… No! I didn't trick him! I didn't _steal_ him!"

The woman squeezed Yuuri's wrist. The pain was as clarifying as it was excruciating.

"I didn't steal Viktor," Yuuri said, pleading. He knew he was crying but he couldn't do anything about that. "I gave him that ring because I want to be with him, not because I want to own him. I want to spend time with him and skate with him and live with him. He wants that too!"

"You do not know what he wants," the woman spat.

"I ask him, and he asks me." All Yuuri could focus on was the pain in his wrist. "I love him. I'd never hurt him or keep him if he wanted to leave."

The woman stared at him with wild eyes.

"I want him to be happy," Yuuri whispered. "All I want is for Viktor to be happy. You have to believe me."

"You bound him," the woman said again, but there was uncertainty in her voice.

"I gave him a ring and he gave one to me," Yuuri said. The woman let go of his wrist. "I didn't bind him. It was a promise."

"Promise," the woman repeated.

"A promise that we'd do our best by each other," Yuuri said. He cradled his wrist to his chest. He didn't think it was broken, but he was going to have a large bruise. If he got out of this alive.

If he was dead, would his wrist hurt so much?

"If he wanted to leave, I wouldn't stop him," Yuuri said. "Viktor stays because he wants to be with me."

The woman was still staring at him. The wind whispered around them, the pine trees murmuring on the lake's edge.

"Thief," the woman said, but this time there was no malice in the word. Now that she wasn't actively trying to kill him, Yuuri wondered how old she was. In the moonlight, she looked so much like Viktor at fifteen, long silver hair and huge blue eyes in a pale narrow face.

Cautiously, Yuuri tried to sit up. His progress was arrested when the woman reached out to touch his cheek. He flinched, waiting for the cold, but this time her touch was just a light scratch.

"A little thief." She bent towards him, and Yuuri closed his eyes, waiting for more pain, but all he felt was the press of her lips on his forehead.

A car horn sounded.

Yuuri opened his eyes. He was lying on the sidewalk in St. Petersburg, where he'd been before the whole thing with the lake and the woman began. He scrambled to his feet, looking around in wonder and confusion.

What was happening _now_?

The street was nearly deserted, not the bustling buzz of activity there had been when he'd left the grocer's only a few minutes before. The shopping bag he'd dropped at the edge of the lake was lying at his feet, so he reached for it with his right hand, and nearly cried out at the pain when he tried to close his fingers. Pushing back his jacket sleeve, Yuuri could see a livid purpling bruise around his wrist.

He stared, not understanding. Had he been knocked out and somehow lain for hours in the middle of the sidewalk? Was that any better an explanation than waking up at the edge of some strange lake, of being threatened by some strange lady who looked like Viktor?

Viktor. Yuuri scrambled for his phone, but the thing was still dead. He couldn't call Viktor, couldn't call anyone.

Not sure what else to do, he picked up the shopping bag with his left hand and turned in the direction of home.

The elevator ride up to the apartment was the first chance Yuuri had to see his own reflection, and he hissed at what he saw. His hair was a mess, there was a long scratch on his cheek, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked about as terrible as he felt.

The elevator doors opened. Yuuri shuffled out into the corridor. He could hear shouting in one of the apartments, loud yelling in Russian. That was unusual; most people on their floor kept conversation quiet at night, and the concrete walls of the building muffled a lot of sound.

Yuuri walked up to his door. The shouting was coming from _inside_ their apartment. Panicked, Yuuri fumbled for his key. He unlocked the door and hurried into the apartment. "Viktor?"

The shouting stopped. Viktor burst out of the kitchen and stopped dead, staring at Yuuri as if he were a ghost.

"What's going on?" Yuuri demanded, letting his shopping bag fall to the ground. Makkachin trotted over to jump on Yuuri's leg, wagging his tail and barking madly. "Who's shouting?"

Yakov came out of the kitchen, followed by two men in police uniforms. One of the policemen put a restraining hand on Viktor's arm. He said something in Russian, giving Viktor a shake. Viktor blinked, staring at Yuuri as he replied in Russian, a flow of angry words that Yuuri couldn't understand.

"What happened?" Yuuri asked, patting Makkachin's side to get the dog to stop jumping on him. "Viktor?"

Yakov came forward. "Yuuri, thank God." He hugged Yuuri, which was so unexpected that Yuuri stood still. Yakov patted Yuuri's back soundly. "You've been gone for four days," Yakov said in Yuuri's ear. "The police thought you were dead and that Viktor had killed you."

"What?" Yuuri gasped. _"What?"_

"Follow my lead. I think one of them speaks some English," Yakov said. He pulled back. "Ah, Yuuri, you should not go off to visit your friends without telling us!" he said loudly.

Mind whirling, Yuuri nodded. "You're probably right," he stammered.

The policeman who wasn't restraining Viktor stepped forward. "What is your name?" he asked in Russian.

"Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki." Yuuri looked beyond the policeman to Viktor. Why  did Viktor look so pale?

The policeman let off a string of Russian that Yuuri couldn't make out. "He wants to know where you've been," Yakov translated.

"I went to visit some… friends?"

Yakov relayed this to the policeman. His colleague let go of Viktor's arm, but Viktor didn't move.

The policeman asked another question. "He asks why you didn't tell anyone where you were going," Yakov translated.

"It wasn't exactly planned," Yuuri said, flashing back to the cold lake and the woman who had been so much like Viktor. Something in the policeman's eyes set Yuuri's teeth on edge. "I left a note for Viktor," he said in a flash of brilliance. "The dog must have eaten it."

The policeman by Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it. _Maybe he understands English_ , Yuuri thought. _So why isn't he doing the talking?_

The other policeman spoke in a scolding tirade. "He says you're irresponsible to leave without letting people know where you're going, it's a waste of police time," Yakov said. "He says you're a guest in this country and you shouldn't act like this."

 _I left this apartment an hour ago, not four days ago!_ Yuuri thought, pressing his fingers against his leg to keep quiet.

More Russian. "They want to know if you understand," Yakov said.

"Understand what?" Yuuri demanded.

Yakov put out his hand to Yuuri as he spoke to the police for a minute. "This is serious, Yuuri," Yakov said, giving Yuuri a warning glare. "We all want to wrap this up to everyone's satisfaction."

Frustrated, Yuuri pushed his hair back from his face. The policeman by Viktor said something sharply.

"He wants to know what happened to your wrist," Yakov said.

Yuuri looked down. His jacket sleeve had fallen back, revealing the ugly black-and-purple bruises on his wrist. "I fell skating," Yuuri said. His frustration and anger were pulling on his mind, making even the English words hard to find. He didn't understand any of what was going on. All of this was like some bad dream he couldn't wake from.

The policeman by Viktor spoke again, his voice calmer than his partner's. Yakov cleared his throat. "He asks if you know where the Japanese consulate is."

"In St. Petersburg?" Yuuri asked, wondering at the question. "Yes."

"He says you can go there if you need help."

Yuuri looked straight at the policeman. "I'm fine," he said.

The first policeman spoke to Viktor, gesturing sharply as he and his partner headed to the door. Viktor replied in a quick torrent of Russian, making the policeman bat his hand in the air in disgust.

The door closed after the policemen, leaving the three men alone. Yuuri looked between Yakov and Viktor, but the latter had turned away to look out the window.

Yakov was the first to speak. "Yuuri, are you okay?"

"I don't know," Yuuri said. His arm hurt and his hip hurt, and the repeated shocks of the last hour were starting to settle in his head, sending tremors through his limbs.

"Where have you been?"

Makkachin barked up at him. Yuuri reached down to pet the dog, dimly noticing that his hand was shaking. "I don't know." His legs were shaking too. He sat on the edge of the couch, Makkachin leaning in to lick his face. "I just left to get some ice cream."

Yakov sat on the couch beside him. "Did you get robbed?" he asked, moving Yuuri's chin so he could look into Yuuri's eyes. "Are you on drugs?"

Yuuri moved back. "No!"

"Do you need to see a doctor?" Yakov pressed.

 _Probably,_ Yuuri thought a little hysterically _. They'd think I'm crazy and wouldn't let me skate anymore._ Out loud, he said, "I'm fine."

"Hrmm." Yakov stood up, then put his hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "We're glad you're back. Now, call your parents and go to bed."

"My parents?"

"When Viktor told us you were missing, I called them to see if you'd gone home." Yakov moved over to the coat rack to get his jacket. "They were quite worried." He paused at the door. "Whatever happened, Yuuri, we're glad you're back safe." He cleared his throat in discomfort. "See you at practice tomorrow."

When the door closed after Yakov, the silence in the room was absolute.

"Viktor," Yuuri said after an excruciating minute. "What's going on?"

Viktor stared out the window. "I came back from practice and you weren't here." He turned around. "I waited and you didn't come back." He ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I found the ring on the dresser and I knew that—" He pulled himself up, giving a shake of the head. "You didn't answer your phone, no one knew where you were. I called Yakov and everyone, but you were nowhere."

Yuuri unzipped his jacket. "I left to get dinner and ice cream an hour ago," he said. "Viktor, I don't _understand._ "

Viktor walked wearily across the room. "This is my fault," he said as he sat on the couch beside Yuuri. "I knew this would happen and I tried to stop it, but you left the ring here."

"What does the ring have to do with anything?" Yuuri blurted out, pausing halfway out of his jacket.

Viktor pulled the jacket away from Yuuri. "It was iron," he said quietly. "It was the only thing I could think to keep you safe." He picked up Yuuri's right hand, gently pushing his shirtsleeve up his arm. "Let's see what she did to you."

"She?" Yuuri repeated. His heart was pounding in his chest. "How do you know it was a she? What's going on?"

Viktor cradled Yuuri's injured wrist. He wouldn't look up to meet Yuuri's eyes. "When she came to me that night at the rink, she wanted me to go with her. I told her I couldn't, that I had people I needed to stay for. She was angry, but I didn't know she would take you away."

"Viktor." Yuuri put his left hand out to touch Viktor's arm. "What happened to me?"

Viktor let go of Yuuri's wrist. "You blinked, and you were by the lake," he said. He still wouldn't look up. "It was dark and you thought you were alone, but you weren't. She was there."

"Viktor, who is she?"

Viktor pushed his hair out of his eyes and finally looked straight at Yuuri. "My mother."

Yuuri opened his mouth, but words stuck in his throat.

"She's not… She doesn't think like a person," Viktor went on. "She gets angry and jealous. She nearly killed Yakov when I was a child—"

"Wait, _Yakov_ knows about this?" Yuuri interrupted.

"She took him for two days," Viktor said. He curled into the corner of the couch. "When he came back, he pretended that it hadn't happened, but I knew what she had done."

Yuuri stared, his head swimming. Viktor was talking nonsense. None of this was possible.

"She usually stays in the lake until the summer," Viktor went on. "I don't know why she came out the day the ice cracked."

Yuuri swallowed. "Don't you mean _at_ the lake?"

"No." Viktor looked down at his hands. "I meant _in_."

Yuuri stood up. "This doesn't make any sense," he said. "None of this makes any sense!" He walked around the living room, wondering if he was crazy, if Viktor was crazy, if the whole world had gone crazy.

"You should call your parents."

"And tell them what?" Yuuri demanded. "That I was kidnapped by some lady who lives in a lake?"

"If you want." Viktor looked up at Yuuri, and there was some life coming back into his eyes.

Yuuri shook his head. Maybe he had hit his head when he fell in the bathroom, and this was the result of a concussion. "I should go to the doctor," he muttered, stopping to pick up his shopping bag. "Too many falls on the ice."

Needing some space from Viktor's intense stare, Yuuri carried the groceries into the kitchen. He put the meat into the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer, leaving the vegetables on the counter for the time being. If he had been gone for days, how was the ice cream still frozen?

"Here," Viktor said, appearing out of nowhere with the house phone in his hand.

Yuuri flinched in surprise. "How do you do that? Not make any noise?"

Viktor put the phone on the counter. "Ballet training," he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Yuuri let out a breath through his nose. Fine. Viktor could be like that. He picked up the phone, dialing his parents' number even though he had no idea what to say to them.

The phone call was the most uncomfortable half hour of Yuuri's life. His mother could barely speak over her tears of relief, but Yuuri's father subjected him to an angry lecture on Yuuri's irresponsibility in running off without a word to anyone. After the first five minutes, Yuuri sat at the table and let his head rest on one hand, putting in words of half-meant apology whenever his father stopped for breath.

After a while, his father ran out of steam, but his mother's sad words of understanding were even worse. All Yuuri could do was to say how sorry he was, and it wouldn't happen again.

The call finally ended after Yuuri promised to call every day. He set the phone down on the table, then took off his glasses. He was so confused that he ached all over.

"Here." A steaming mug was set down. "It's tea."

Yuuri eyed the slightly out-of-focus mug. "Why?"

Viktor sat down across the table. "I wanted tea."

Yuuri pulled the mug closer, watching the steam curl up into the air. "She called me a thief," he said after a long silence, putting his glasses back on. "Your... your mother. She said that I tricked you into being with me."

"What?"

Yuuri put his hand flat on the table, his ring glinting gold in the light. "I told her that I hadn't tricked you with this. I said that it was a promise that we'd do our best for each other."

Viktor reached across the table to take Yuuri's hand. His fingers were ice-cold.

"I said, if you wanted to leave me, I'd let you go."

Viktor slid his fingers through Yuuri's until their rings touched. "I never want to leave," Viktor said quietly. "You're the best thing I have ever had in my life."

Yuuri squeezed Viktor's hand. "Same."

Viktor tried to smile, but the expression just looked ghastly. "Even after you've met my mother?"

"Yes."

The fake smile faded off Viktor's face. "I'm sorry this happened to you," he said. "I'd have done anything to keep her from hurting you."

Yuuri shook his head. "I thought I'd died. When I was suddenly by that lake, I thought I'd died and I'd never see you again."

"You didn't die." Viktor ran his thumb over the back of Yuuri's hand. "You're safe now."

Yuuri breathed out. That wasn't exactly what he'd meant, but he didn't know how to put the swirling feelings in his chest into words Viktor would understand. "I'm hungry," he said instead.

"I'll find something for you." Viktor reluctantly let Yuuri's hand go.

Yuuri watched him move around the kitchen, seeing how tired he was from the hesitation in his movements.

"Was I really gone for four days?" Yuuri asked.

Viktor pulled a plate from the cupboard. "Yes," he said.

"How?"

Viktor shrugged. "I don't know. Time moves differently when she's around. Once I spent all summer with her in the lake, and when I came back I had only been gone for a week. My father barely noticed."

Yuuri watched as Viktor spooned leftovers onto the plate. "What is she?"

"Human. Once." Viktor stared down at the plate. "I think. I don't know."

"But you're mostly…. Normal."

Viktor raised an eyebrow at Yuuri. "I am extraordinary," he corrected, and Yuuri couldn't help but smile a little. "Should I heat this up?"

"I'll eat it cold."

Viktor handed Yuuri the plate. "You're taking this all very well," he said as he sat down.

"I'm not dead," Yuuri said around a mouthful of food. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not losing my mind. If this was a trick, a, uh, prank, you made up, I'm pretty sure my parents wouldn't have been in on it." He swallowed with a sip of tea.

"They were worried for you."

Yuuri stabbed a carrot with his fork. "Do you think it'll happen again?" he asked. "Will this happen again?"

Viktor rubbed his eyes. "I hope not."

"Good." Yuuri went back to his dinner. "Was Yakov right? Did the police think you had done something to me?"

Viktor let his head fall back. "When Yakov called your parents, your sister got the Japanese police involved," he said. "They called the _politsiya_ , who were convinced that I had murdered you and hidden your body."

Yuuri paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "What? _Why?"_

"Professional jealousy." Viktor's smile was icy. "You know figure skaters, so prone to flights of jealous rage. They were yelling at me for hours, even before Yakov got here, trying to get me to confess."

"Are you okay?"

Viktor sat up. "Don't worry about me."

Yuuri put his fork down. He wasn't hungry any more. "I do worry about you."

"You shouldn't."

Yuuri stood, circling the table to Viktor's side. He brushed the hair back from Viktor's forehead with his left hand. "You are important to me," he said quietly. "That means I worry about you."

Viktor looked up at him for a long time before resting his cheek against Yuuri's stomach. "I was so scared she was going to hurt you," he whispered, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's hips to hold him close.

"I'm okay," Yuuri said, although the ache in his wrist gave lie to his words. "I'm here now."

They stayed like that for some time, Viktor breathing hard against Yuuri's skin, until the stiffness in Yuuri's hip made him shift. Viktor pulled back reluctantly. "You should get to bed," he said.

"You too." The clock on the wall said it was far after midnight. _Another day,_ Yuuri thought as Viktor cleaned up the kitchen. He was too tired to think clearly, and certainly too tired to protest as Viktor drew him into the bathroom.

Viktor started undressing Yuuri carefully. He let out a low curse as he pulled Yuuri's shirt over his head.

"What?" Yuuri mumbled.

"Your arm."

Yuuri looked down. There was a vaguely hand-shaped white mark on his upper arm, where the woman by the lake had grabbed him. "Oh."

Viktor touched the mark. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Why did she do this?"

"I don't know." Yuuri reached for his belt. "Can we just get to bed?"

Viktor ran his hand over Yuuri's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, before pressing a kiss onto Yuuri's cheek.

Yuuri kicked off his pants. The bruise on his hip wasn't as purple as the one on his wrist, but he'd be feeling that one for a while.

Viktor's eyes darkened. "What happened?"

"I slipped in a pool of water at the rink," Yuuri said. "It's no big deal."

"You slipped."

"Yes."

"In water."

"It was a clumsy day."

Viktor pressed his lips together. "I'm not going to let you get hurt again," he said.

Yuuri shook his head. "I've had worse from training, a lot worse," he said. "You're usually right there watching me do it."

"This is different."

Yuuri took off his glasses and put them on the counter. "Viktor, look at me," he ordered. Viktor took his attention off Yuuri's hip. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"I'd do anything for you," Viktor whispered.

Yuuri stepped into Viktor's space, their faces inches apart. "Anything?"

Viktor nodded.

"Then kiss me."

Viktor touched Yuuri's cheek, his throat, then put his hands on Yuuri's waist, but he was still too far away. Frustrated, Yuuri put his hands on Viktor's shoulders and went up on his toes, pressing his naked body against Viktor's clothed one.

"Please," Yuuri breathed against Viktor's mouth. "I need you to kiss me."

Viktor opened his mouth in a sigh, his lips moving against Yuuri's, and Yuuri was lost.

In between kisses, they managed to get Viktor out of his clothing. The shower stall was only a few steps away, and it was a bit of a tight squeeze, but with the water on and nothing between them, it was perfect.

Viktor ran his hands over Yuuri's skin, touching him as if he was trying to memorize the lines of Yuuri's body. Yuuri was more intent on kissing Viktor, his mouth, his throat, his chest. So intent was he that it took him a few minutes to realize that Viktor was showing fewer signs of physical interest in the proceedings than he usually did.

"I'm tired," Viktor said when Yuuri raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "I don't think I've slept at all since you went missing."

"You haven't slept in four days?" Yuuri pushed the wet strands of Viktor's silver hair back from his face.

"I couldn't." Viktor took Yuuri's hand to kiss his ring. "Every time I closed my eyes, all I could picture was you in the lake, trapped under the ice."

"I'm here," was all Yuuri could think to say. "I'm here now."

Viktor put his head under the water spray for a few seconds. "I'm too tired," he said when he emerged. "I can't think."

"Then you should go to bed," Yuuri said firmly. "We will sleep and then tomorrow you'll feel better."

"Maybe," Viktor said vaguely, but he let Yuuri turn off the shower and herd him out onto the mat to dry off.

The bedroom was more of a mess than usual. "What happened here?" Yuuri asked, pulling open the drawer to look for the sweatpants he wore to bed.

"The police searched the apartment yesterday," Viktor said, climbing naked into bed. "I'll clean up tomorrow."

Yuuri ran his hand over the tangled fabric shoved into the wrong drawer. "What were they looking for?"

"I don't know." Viktor pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. "Your body, or at least some clue as to where I hid it."

Yuuri shivered. The idea that the police had been here, touching all of their things, thinking Viktor had murdered Yuuri… that might be worse than being stranded on a frozen lakefront with Viktor's angry mother.

"We'll clean it up tomorrow," he promised. "We'll make it better together."

He turned off the overhead light on his way to bed, leaving only the soft bedside lamp to illuminate the room. When he slid under the blankets, Viktor curled up around him.

Yuuri freed one arm for long enough to take off his glasses, then hugged Viktor back with all his might. "I know that you would never hurt me," he whispered.

"You could still be hurt because of me," Viktor countered, words muffled against Yuuri's shoulder.

"The world is not your responsibility," Yuuri reminded him. "The Viktor Nikiforov I know would never think it was."

Viktor propped himself up on one elbow to stare down at Yuuri. "It is not the world that worries me. My mother? She does."

Yuuri reached up, smoothing his thumb over Viktor's cheek. "Whatever happens, we will face it together."

Viktor turned his head to kiss Yuuri's palm, his eyes closing on trembling tears. He let Yuuri pull him back down into the nest of blankets, and after a few minutes, his breathing evened out and he was asleep.

Yuuri wasn't so lucky. He had never felt more wide awake in his life. Part of it was the ache in his hip and wrist, but mostly it was the thoughts chasing each other around in his mind.

For all that he might have a little trouble with anxiety and his nerves, Yuuri had never had cause to question his grip upon reality. Well, except the first few minutes when he'd found Viktor stark naked in the hot springs that first day in Hasetsu, and that had actually happened.

And now Yuuri had been presented with a story by Viktor, who was as rational as he was confident in himself, that his mother was some sort of non-human lake creature who could steal people away and make time move wrong. It was impossible.

And yet Yuuri had lived it, had been on that frozen lakefront, could still feel the woman's grip upon his wrist.

The only other option was that this was all a massive joke pulled on him by Viktor and Yakov with the complicity of the St. Petersburg police department and Yuuri's entire family. To Yuuri, the idea that his mother and father would be in on such a joke was even more impossible than Viktor's entire story.

Viktor's fingers twitched, pulling Yuuri's attention back to him. In the dim warm light, he was the most beautiful thing Yuuri had ever seen.

Yuuri could admit to himself that he had been in love with the _idea_ of Viktor for most of his life. But now, he knew the real Viktor; his fanatical devotion to the artistry of skating, his honest joy at being on the ice, but also the sharpness of his temper, his distraction at the least opportune moments.

Now, Yuuri knew the real Viktor, and loved him with every breath.

Viktor whimpered in his sleep. Yuuri absently pulled the sheet a little higher on Viktor's shoulders. "Hush," he breathed, and rubbed Viktor's back until the whimpering stopped.

Yuuri let his hand rest on Viktor's side. When he was younger, watching Viktor skate on television, he had wondered how anyone could be so graceful and so powerful on the ice. Now he knew that Viktor put his entire body and soul into skating, but even so the man could effortlessly carry off a skating routine that would leave most other skaters a sobbing wreck on the ice.

Not that it was impossible; Yuuri might not have the effortless grace, but he could last longer than Viktor on the ice, and Yurio was close to pulling off some of Viktor's more spectacular technical feats. But Viktor had been skating, and winning, for longer than any other skater in history. He'd made his senior debut at fifteen, like Yurio, but he'd grown effortlessly into his skin as his body changed from a boy's to a man's. Yurio was fighting that every day, Yuuri could see. And Yuuri, as skilled as he was now, hadn't been able to get the power he needed until he had grown into his body at eighteen.

Viktor had always made it look so easy.

Now, though, Yuuri thought about the woman by the lake, her icy grace, the strength in her grip, and wondered if Viktor had taken more than just his looks from his mother.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Yuuri got an hour of fitful sleep, but when four o'clock came around and he was sick of staring at the clock, he eased out from under the blankets. He took his glasses into the living room to see if he could fix his phone, but nothing he tried brought the device back to life. He eventually gave up in disgust and when in search of his laptop. He found it under some papers on the kitchen table. Maybe the police had been trying to find him using it?

Great. Now he was wide awake and angry.

He curled up in the blankets on the couch with the laptop. He didn't know much about computers, but none of the systems had been logged into since the day he'd gone out to the store, so maybe the cops hadn't hacked in. It wasn't like he had anything scandalous on the laptop, just hundreds of gigabytes of figure skating videos and an embarrassingly large photo gallery of Viktor Nikiforov.

The apartment was silent, with only a late-night car siren drifting up in the air outside. Makkachin lay fast asleep on his blanket, and Viktor was quiet in the bedroom. Yuuri rubbed his eyes before opening his email.

That was a disaster. The long string of emails from his family, dating back four days, made Yuuri's stomach roil in anxiety. The most recent was from his sister Mari, with the subject line demanding to know what was wrong with him thinking he could run off without telling anyone. He couldn't open that. Not yet.

In the corner of the screen, the instant messaging box popped open. It was Phichit.

> PC: OMG RU OK???????????
> 
> KY: I'm fine.
> 
> PC: Where have you been??? Viktor called me two days ago???
> 
> KY: I went to visit a friend.
> 
> PC: You don't have any friends in Russia?? omg was this bc you had that fight with Viktor?????

Yuuri looked up at the ceiling. Typing made his wrist ache, but he wasn't going to let himself fall to weakness. He knew the difference between stretching at a healing injury, and pushing himself too far.

> KY: it wasn't because of Viktor. I just needed a bit of time.
> 
> PC: you can talk to me if you need to
> 
> KY: Thanks. Viktor called my sister. My parents freaked out. And Mari called the police.
> 
> PC: (•_•)
> 
> KY: when I got back tonight the cops were about to arrest Viktor because they thought he'd killed me and dumped my body somewhere.
> 
> PC: (•A•)
> 
> PC: REALLY?????????
> 
> PC: omg that's terrible
> 
> PC: Is he mad at you?
> 
> KY: I don't think so. He's sleeping now.
> 
> PC: Why did the police think he killed you????
> 
> KY: professional figure skating rivalry
> 
> KY: which is so dumb
> 
> PC: Yeah if anyone was going to murder you because they were jealous it would be Plisetsky
> 
> KY: Hey
> 
> KY: Well yes
> 
> KY: But I don't want to joke about this
> 
> KY: I'm sorry I made everyone worry about me. I won't do it again.
> 
> PC: Oh man. I don't know how freaked out my mom would be if I vanished in another country.
> 
> KY: My mom cried for half an hour when I called them
> 
> PC: :(
> 
> KY: My dad yelled at me so hard
> 
> PC: :<
> 
> KY: i feel so bad

And he did, just not for the reasons Phichit would think. He felt terrible that his family had worried so much, that the police had almost arrested Viktor. But he wasn't sure he was _angry_ at the woman by the lake. He wasn't sure what he thought about her.

Maybe he was still in shock.

> PC: Shit I got practice in 30. Call me anytime you need me ok
> 
> KY: I will. Sorry you were worried about me
> 
> PC: You be ok

To this last message, Phichit attached a photo of the two of them from years before in Detroit, both of them smiling, and signed off.

Yuuri sighed. Phichit had been Yuuri's best friend for so long, and he knew how Phichit would react if Yuuri told him the truth – he'd think that Yuuri was having a nervous breakdown.

"Maybe I am," Yuuri muttered to himself, and went onto the internet to search out the symptoms for a nervous breakdown.

Half an hour later, he was pretty sure he wasn't having a breakdown, a meltdown, or showing any signs of brain cancer. He still hadn't opened Mari's email.

He rotated his wrist, moving his fingers cautiously against the stiffness. He would probably be fine in a few days, although it would take far longer for the bruises to fade.

Looking at his wrist made him wonder again about the woman at the lake. Whatever she was, she had moved too fast to be human.

Maybe someone else knew what she was.

Yuuri searched for _lady_ and _lake_ , but ended up with lots of listings for American villages. He added _Russia_ to the search string, but nothing useful came up.

He hesitated for a moment before changing _lady_ to _ghost_ and ended up with information about a lake in Siberia. This was a stupid idea, he told himself as he changed _ghost_ to _woman ghost_. There wasn't going to be anything here.

 _Rusalka_ , the webpage pulled up for him. Yuuri went still.

_A rusalka is a water nymph, a female spirit in Slavic mythology and folklore. It is said that young women who drowned violently, either a murder or a suicide, will haunt the river or a lake where their death occurred._

Yuuri felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he read the page.

_Her hair will be wet - some folktales say that if a rusalka's hair dries, she will die. The rusalka will appear with blonde or red hair, and is generally considered to be irresistibly beautiful. She uses this beauty to seduce young men to their--_

Something touched Yuuri's shoulder.

He screeched, trying to fight his way free of the blanket and only succeeding in tipping himself  and his laptop onto the floor.

"Yuuri!" Viktor exclaimed.

"Oh, you scared me!" Yuuri kicked his feet free from the blanket's folds. "I thought you were asleep!"

"I woke up and you were gone again," Viktor said, sinking to the ground beside Yuuri. "I thought that last night was all a dream, that you were still gone."

"I'm here and I'm not going anywhere," Yuuri said, opening the blanket to wrap a very-naked Viktor up beside him.

Viktor curled in against Yuuri, breathing heavily onto Yuuri's neck. "My beautiful love, my beautiful Yuuri."

"You're beautiful," Yuuri returned, closing his eyes. _The rusalka is irresistibly beautiful_ , the stories said, and the woman by the lake had looked so much like Viktor.

Viktor put his arms around Yuuri and breathed out, the last tension leaving his body. Yuuri wished they could sit like this forever, just the two of them, no worries of the outside world, of parents and families, or responsibilities, of the police.

A cold wet nose pushed in against Yuuri's forehead. "Makkachin!" Yuuri said, laughing in relief. The dog bumped against Viktor, licking his cheek. "Makkachin, we'll get your breakfast in a moment."

"He missed you," Viktor said, scratching Makkachin's head.

"Mmm." Yuuri sighed. "It's nearly six. We should get ready for practice."

"I don't want to go to practice," Viktor said. He pressed his face against Yuuri's shoulder, the faint prickles of stubble itching at Yuuri's skin. "Let's go back to bed."

"Yakov will kill us both," Yuuri reminded Viktor. "Come on, we can sit on the benches and look wretched together."

"You do not look wretched," Viktor said as Yuuri struggled out of the blankets. "You look perfect."

"We might need to get your eyesight checked." Yuuri held out his hand to help Viktor stand. "I'll make breakfast."

It wasn't quite that simple; Viktor seemed determined to not let Yuuri out of his sight, going so far as to touch Yuuri as much as possible. They didn't speak much as they got ready for their trip to the rink. Yuuri had too much on his mind, about rusalkas and girls who died violent deaths in the water.

The train was more crowded than Yuuri expected, until he remembered that it was a weekday, not the weekend he had anticipated. He stood alert on the ride, watching for women with long wet hair, while Viktor dozed against his side.

They weren't the first ones to the rink. The skaters already on the ice turned at their entrance, eyes wide at the sight of Yuuri. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Yuuri stashed his gear beside the rink with the idea of stretching out his legs first thing, to see how badly his adventures had messed up his hip.

Viktor said something under his breath. "What?" Yuuri asked.

"Half of them think what the police thought," Viktor said darkly. "That I had done something to you out of professional jealousy."

Yuuri flashed a glare at the huddle of skaters, who were all suddenly very intent on their warm-ups. "That's ridiculous," he said, sliding his skate bag off his shoulder. "The only skater here who might kill either of us and shove our bodies into a sewer is—"

Something tackled Yuuri into the wall.

"Where were you?" demanded a small blond ball of rage. Yurio stepped back from Yuuri and gave him another shove against the wall. "What is wrong with you? Yakov said you went to meet someone and you didn't tell anyone?"

"Hi, Yurio," Yuuri said wearily. Viktor sat down to lace up his skates and paid them no mind. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"I wasn't worried," Yurio said quickly. "You're supposed to be training to compete! How can you do that when you run away? Are you keeping secrets?"

"No secrets," Yuuri said. "Can I put my skates on now?"

"Whatever," Yurio muttered. "I don't care."

Yuuri watched Yurio stalk off to the ice. "Okay."

Viktor stood. "Always a surprise, that Yurio." He swiveled to look at Yuuri. "Do you need me to tie your skates?

"Of course not." Yuuri sat down to open his skate bag, and winced at the pull on his bruised wrist.

"Of course not," Viktor echoed as he knelt at Yuuri's feet. "Let me help you anyway."

Yuuri could tell how tired Viktor was, because the man didn't even try to put any suggestion into the words. "Fine," Yuuri said. "But just today. If I can't lace up tomorrow, I'm going to get my wrist x-rayed."

"Of course." With more efficiency than Yuuri had expected, Viktor tied his skates. "Now, shall we practice?"

That first step onto the ice drove all the lingering uncertainties and fears to the back of Yuuri's mind. It was like what Viktor had said about skating – out on the ice, no one could touch him. All that mattered was the ice.

Pushing off, Yuuri could sense Viktor just behind him. There was a lot they had to sort out, about what had happened to Yuuri, or if they had to worry about Viktor's mother coming back, and what that might mean.

But now…

Viktor flew past him, exhausted but smiling, perfect and amazing and _real_. "Aren't you going to put any effort into your skate?" he said teasingly.

Yuuri put on a burst of speed, getting ahead of Viktor then turning to skate backwards. "Aren't you going to even try to catch me?" Yuuri shot back.

Viktor laughed, reaching out to Yuuri with a graceful hand. "Always."

Under their feet, the ice sang.

* * *

_A week later_

Yuuri followed Yurio up the steps into the museum. "You don't have to come with me," Yurio said to the floor. "It's just a stupid essay."

"I don't know anything about St. Petersburg," Yuuri said easily, looking around the entrance hall. So much marble, and all so very different than Japan. "And if I have to listen to Viktor talk about his _vision_ for next season's short program, my brain will turn to pudding."

Yurio made a noise in agreement. "If he doesn't concentrate on this season, I'm going to kick his ass at Worlds."

"I thought you were going to do that anyway."

"Yeah but I wanted him to make it worth showing up for."

Yurio headed into the museum, Yuuri hurrying to follow him. A week after his misadventure, and the bruises in his hip and wrist no longer hindered him. "Where are we going?"

"I need to see something about the Revolution." Yurio took a corner. "All the signs here are in Russian."

"I'll look at the pictures."

The corridor opened up onto a wide gallery. Even though Yuuri's Russian comprehension was still pitiful, he could see there was a progression of time from one end of the hall to the other. Yurio hurried over to the far wall, leaving Yuuri to linger by the cases.

This side of the hall was from just before the Revolution, Yuuri could tell by the dates on the pictures and displays. He knew Japan's history from this time, and knew too about the American wild west, but he didn't know much about Russia's history.

_"Vorishka."_

Yuuri turned around at the voice in his ear.

There was no one there.

Frowning, Yuuri looked around. In one of the glass display cases along the wall, there was a reflection where none could be, of a woman too thin, her long wet hair nearly silver in the morning light.

Then it was gone.

Heart fluttering in his chest, Yuuri slowly approached the case. Inside were a bunch of old photographs, posed against outdoor backdrops.

"What are you looking at?" Yurio asked, walking up beside Yuuri and knocking his elbow against Yuuri's side.

"I don't know," Yuuri said. His eyes wandered over one section of photographs, looking at all the faces of people long dead.

He and Yurio spotted the photograph at the same moment. Yuuri took a breath in surprise, while Yurio made a little noise. "What the hell," Yurio muttered. "That girl looks like Viktor."

He bent to see the photograph closer, but Yuuri didn't need any other confirmation. He knew that face, had last seen it before a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere.

"What does the caption say?" Yuuri asked, feeling a little lightheaded. He must have been imagining the press of a hand at the small of his back, because there was no one behind him.

"Ekaterina Nikolayevna Rozhkova," Yurio read. "This whole area about is St. Petersburg leading up to the Revolution. She," and Yurio gestured at the photograph, "went missing in 1913."

Yuuri rubbed at the healing bruises on his wrist. "Where?"

Yurio frowned at him. "Her family estate up the river. Her body was found in Lake Ladoga. This says that she was kidnapped by the Tsar's men to cast discredit upon the Party."

There was a pressure on Yuuri's shoulder, as if something was pressing down on it very gently. "She wasn't," Yuuri said. "That wasn't what happened."

Yurio frowned harder. "That's what it says."

"I know, but—" Yuuri bit off his words. There was no purpose to be gained in arguing about this in the middle of the museum, about something Yuuri could not begin to comprehend. "It's sad."

Yurio shrugged. "It's history. You're just sad because she looks like Viktor."

A puff of air, almost like a breath, blew across Yuuri's cheek. "Something like that," he agreed.

Yurio shook his head, his hair flying everywhere. "Come on," he said. "I don't want to spend all day in some dusty museum."

"Sure." Yuuri took one last look at the century-old photograph. He wondered if Ekaterina had been scared when she died, and if she had been lonely in her lake all this time.

Then he turned towards Yurio, and they walked out of the halls of history and back into the streets of St. Petersburg.

No one followed them.

**Author's Note:**

> The big figure skating competitions are:
> 
>   * The Grand Prix (held in the fall) 
>   * The European Championships (for competitors from European countries) (usually held in January)
>   * The Four Continents (4CCs) (for competitors outside Europe (Africa, the Americas, Asia and Oceania) (usually held in February)
>   * The World Championship (usually held late March and/or early April)
>   * And one’s home-country nationals, time and place depending.
> 

> 
> source: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figure_skating_competition>
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for reading. I'm on [tumblr](https://mhalachai.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Water's Edge by Mhalachai [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505862) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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